


does it take a foreigner to teach you a life lesson?

by LonesomeDreamer



Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Forgive Me, Implied/Referenced Character Death, LonelyEyes, M/M, Minor Violence, and accidentally yeeting jonah from the body of elias, and also they take place in her kingdom so, and others are words from the language i've created for her kingdom, i guess this is season four spoilers??, i had this funny little idea of her coming to give a statement, i'm putting these four ficlets into one because these feature my girl maggie the most prominently, maggie is my magical little baby, oh also some of the words she speaks are spells, the jonmartin is vaguely in the background yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: Jonah Magnus has met his match in the form of a teenaged queen. Oh yeah, and Peter shows up again. Funny how that works.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Series: the adventures of an evil eye bastard and his lonely sea captain husband [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664716
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. jonah gets yote

**Author's Note:**

> Definition time!  
> Henli - "oh dear" or "my goodness" or something along those lines  
> Paya'rta - one form of saying hello or goodbye

“Is anyone here?”

Her voice echoed through the halls, bouncing from wall to wall as the heels of her boots clicked against the floor. The individual in question was wearing a slim black bodysuit which seemed to highlight each and every one of her curves; her face was obscured by a motorbike helmet.

“Yes, may I—”

The person at the desk paused, staring up at the newcomer with wide eyes.

“...how may I assist you?”

“I’ve come to give a statement,” Maggie hummed, pulling off her helmet and letting her hair free. Reddish-blonde hair tumbled down nearly to the floor in fantastically messy curls; she ran a black-gloved hand through her hair.

By this point, a small crowd had gathered in the front room to observe the arrival. A few dozen pairs of eyes were focused on her, but it was the larger sense of being watched that caught Maggie’s attention.

_Stronger than a hex or curse, but not as strong as a fully-fledged mage at the height of battle. Something interesting is going on…_

“I c-can handle that,” one of the young men said, stepping forward. “Please, follow me. I’ll take you to the Archivist.”

There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the crowd, who had apparently come to the mutual conclusion that the young woman was both terrifying and quite attractive.

“Drew lucky, you did,” someone muttered, causing the young man to go quite red in the face.

“Oh, don’t listen to them, Martin,” Maggie shook her head, tsking at the rest of the crowd. “You should all be quite disappointed in yourselves. _Henli_ , I’ve only just walked in!”

“How...how did you know my name?” Martin mumbled, looking alarmed.

“Don’t worry,” Maggie laughed. “I know a thing or two about magic. No disturbing tricks here.”

Quite suddenly, the crowd shrunk back quicker than the young queen had expected—although, in all fairness, she hadn’t expected it to split at all; it had parted into two sections, revealing two men standing in the middle. One man had darker skin, dotted with round little scars, and glasses that had seen better days. The other man was paler than pale and dressed in one of the most costly suits Maggie had ever seen; the garment itself had been tailored quite finely to the man’s measurements.

“Oh, Jon, good,” Martin sighed softly, rushing forward and grabbing the shorter man’s hand. Jon stumbled over his first few steps before reaching Magnolia and offering a hand.

“Er—Jonathan Sims,” he mumbled. “Archivist.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Jon,” Maggie murmured, smiling faintly. “A bright talent, you are. Purple aura...gray and green mottled...yes, I think you’ll do quite wonderfully. You and Mr. Blackwood here are quite the well-equipped team. Plenty of earth tones in Martin’s aura, lovely maroons and greens, and yours is thrumming with energy.”

Meanwhile, as Jon and Martin attempted to recover from this, Elias’s jaw had taken up a residence on the floor. Within the body of Elias, Jonah was cursing violently.

_This will be dangerous! She’s got quite a bit of power! And this is all unfair to me, she’s too attractive..._

“Is your boss going to lift his jaw from the floor?” Maggie blinked.

“Ah—yes, yes, just—follow us for now,” Martin said nervously, even as Jon began to drag the young woman down the hall. “Wait here.”

The two disappeared into the room, leaving Magnolia alone—or so she thought. She leaned against the wall and pulled out a notepad, beginning to jot a few things down; a tingling sensation against the back of her neck quietly informed her that she was not alone.

Elias Bouchard had sidled up close to her along the wall, a smirk on his face. “Hello, my d—”

Without even looking at him, Magnolia punched him in the face.

Elias’ yelp and corresponding collapse to the floor were enough to draw the attention of several Institute workers, including Martin and Jon, who all stepped out to surround them with expressions of shock on their faces.

_Forgot I was in the body of a middle-aged white man. How old is she, anyway? A_ teenager _?? By the Eye, no wonder!_

Maggie finally looked away from her notes, gazing down at Elias disdainfully. “Looks like you’re bleeding a bit,” she frowned. “Care for a sticking plaster?”

“Quite,” Elias hissed, clutching at his nose—which was clearly broken. Blood was all over his hands; he was doubled up, kneeling on the ground, and trying to stop the blood from dripping into a little puddle on the floor.

The young queen flicked her wrist; her wand, delicately carved of willow with spirals surrounding the grip, shot into her hand.

“ _Episkey_ ,” she intoned softly, giving her wand a flick in the direction of Elias’ nose.

The broken bones snapped back into place and together with a loud crack; Elias screeched, immediately turning away to try and hide the tears of pain pricking at his eyes.

“And who might you be?” Maggie hummed, still watching him very closely.

In an attempt to regain his dignity, and very aware that everyone was still watching, Jonah forced himself to bring the body to its feet. He puffed out his chest a bit, channeling his pride.

“Elias Bouchard,” he purred, offering her one of his hands to shake despite the fact that it was still covered in his own blood. “Head of the Institute.”

Maggie looked at the hand, met Elias’ gaze, and promptly shook hands. Deep in his mind, Jonah had the sudden realization that something had just gone very wrong.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she hissed, before pulling. Hard.

Jonah felt some unstoppable force yank at the back of his consciousness; he found himself tumbling through the air. The body of Elias had crumpled to the floor like a rag doll with the strings cut. Jon and Martin were staring up at Jonah, eyes wide with something between confusion and horror.

It was only then that Magnus actually realized he’d been pulled from the body he’d been inhabiting for the last few decades.

“What the—oh, for _fuck’s sake_ ,” he snarled, one hand at his own throat. “What _are_ you?!?”

“A queen,” Magnolia replied coldly, giving him a look that could have killed if such things were possible. “A witch. A mage of the forces. And you are Jonah Magnus, servant of the Beholding and quite possibly one of the vainest men I have ever met.”

“Don’t you tell me what I am, you _bitch_ ,” he spat, trying to slap her. This failed, however, as his arm went straight through her head. Magnolia seemed generally unamused.

“Do take care of Bouchard here,” she hummed softly, beckoning to Martin. “I do believe a hospital might be the best course of action. Would you like me to take _this one_ off of your hands?”

“I am not a _thing_!” Jonah howled.

“Er—yes, please, I mean, that’s—”

Martin still seemed to be in mild shock over the entire situation; Jonathan took his hand, which seemed to help somewhat.

“It would make it easier on us, provided that if we send you any questions you’ll get us the answers,” the Archivist hummed lowly.

“Of course,” Magnolia nodded, running a hand through her hair before snapping her fingers. The fiery locks braided themselves neatly at her magical command.

“Right. You’re coming with me,” she sighed, tracing some sort of sigil in the air.

“I have no intention of listening to—”

Jonah’s words were cut off in the middle of his sentence; he was still speaking, but nobody could hear him.

“I’ll send in my statement at another time,” Maggie hummed, smiling faintly. “ _Paya’rta_!”

With a bright flash, both she and Magnus had disappeared. The rest of the Institute employees were left behind, staring at the place the two had been.

“...I guess we’d better get Elias to the hospital,” Martin sighed. “Just another day at work.”


	2. leave the eye-man alone with his ice cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maggie takes jonah to her fancy palace and imprisons him. and also jonah really likes strawberry ice cream; i've got no explanation for that.

“What are you doing?”

Two blue eyes looked up from where they’d been staring down into the depths of a pint of strawberry ice cream. The eyes were partially obscured by a mess of brown curls that fell upon the individual’s brow like the tousled end of a mop.

“What do _you_ want?” Jonah muttered bitterly, sinking down in his seat even further as he dug the spoon back into the ice cream. “You’re the one who’s locked me up here. I can only assume that you’re monitoring my every move.”

“You got yourself into this,” Magnolia said sternly. She was perched on the back of a chair near the door, which was sealed seven times over. “How was I supposed to know the body had two consciousnesses within it?”

With a rather ungraceful shove, Jonah pushed his chair back from the table he was seated at and stumbled out of it. He pressed his back against the wall, looking rather like an angry cat.

“You seem to know everything,” he spat. “What _are_ you? Are you even human?”

“Are _you_ , anymore?” Maggie challenged coldly. “You’ve lowered yourself to some of the worst standards I’ve seen in quite some time. You’re a disappointment.”

“To what? To your princess fairytale world of perfection and rainbows?” Magnus sneered, upper lip pulling away ever-so-slightly to reveal perfect teeth. “There is no such thing as perfection, not without power and—”

His sentence was cut off with a strangled gasp as he was pinned against the wall and left dangling several feet above the ground; Maggie had crossed the room in two strides and slammed him to the wall by his neck.

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me about my life,” she hissed. “It’s people like you, who take power that should remain untouched and put it into their own hands, who ruin the lives of everyone around them. Don’t you _dare_ lecture me about power. Don’t you _dare_ , for one single moment, try to tell me what happiness is and how to achieve it.”

Jonah’s face was, by this point, entirely devoid of color; he had gone from pale to white to gray and now nearly blue. His windpipe was being crushed by the hand of the queen, who had not lessened her grip.

“I—c-can’t—”

Unceremoniously, he dropped to the floor as Magnolia pulled her hand away. The Englishman whimpered faintly, caressing his throat with one shaking hand, and tried to work air back into his lungs.

“You could have killed me!” he cried shrilly, eyes wide. “You could have—”

“And that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Maggie laughed coldly, eyes closed. She had turned away from him and was standing rather defiantly, with hands on her hips.

“Death is the final battle!” Magnus cried. “To fear death is to be sane. To conquer death? Why, that is to rule over the universe in its entirety! There is no greater goal than to defy the powers of death!”

The queen turned slowly, one hand clutching at a locket that hung around her neck. When her gaze made contact with Jonah’s once more, the man let out a gasp; her eyes, normally hovering somewhere between blue and green, had developed a golden ring around each iris, and those golden rings were glowing.

“I would disagree,” she said quietly.

“To achieve the highest goal in life is to be happy. One can live forever, and yet remain miserable from a lack of happiness. Conversely, a short life can be all the richer for a wealth of happiness. Surely you are at least aware of this—there’s a heart somewhere in your chest cavity, is there not? Did it ever function?”

“I care not for those frivolous things,” Magnus hissed, adjusting his cravat rather annoyedly. “That is purely false. Happiness is impermanent. Power—”

“—doesn’t last forever. You’re a good example,” Maggie cut him off, “so why don’t you take a look at yourself now?”

She gestured first to the Englishman and then to the mirror on the wall of his cell.

“You sit here and do nothing except read, pace occasionally, eat, and sleep. We’ll have to take your things to be tailored if you eat another pint of ice cream.”

Jonah squirmed awkwardly where he was, feeling a rather uncomfortable feeling come over him.

“Don’t—don’t say that. Please,” he mumbled. “That’s—that’s the only thing I have, you must understand, everything’s been taken from me and…”

He trailed off, looking down at the ground without bothering to finish his statement.

“...I’ll leave you be,” the queen sighed softly. “Your needs will be seen to as needed.”

With that, the Donairian queen swept out of the room; the air behind her seemed to shimmer slightly with magic before the sensation disappeared into total nothingness, leaving the cell’s atmosphere cold and barren.

Jonah had settled himself in a different chair, a cozier one upholstered with blue fabric and significantly more comfortable than the straight-backed wooden chair he’d been sitting in previously. He allowed himself to first slump, and then curl up entirely in a weak little ball.

_Posture be damned._

The thought of change to himself for any sort of petty reason, of letting his posture go and letting _himself_ go to pieces, was terrifying and foreign and against every one of his principles.

“And yet it’s happening,” he murmured, running a still-shaking hand through his hair. “It’s—”

He swallowed his remaining words, shuddering. It was all _strange_ and _wrong_ to him, a violent sort of discord with the typical tempered chaos that he had grown accustomed to after centuries of planning—and yet, here he was _neglecting_ himself and doing nothing but giving in to his base urges. It was nothing short of failure, in his mind.

A cursory glance around the room revealed nothing new to him; he was being kept in an odd sort of cell that was furnished with all that makes a home, but still had an air of magical entrapment about it. He smoothed his coat and winced as he ran a hand over his stomach, the first acknowledgement of personal change—even if that change was only a few pints too many of strawberry ice cream, which he had asked the guard for.

_Asked. Not begged. I most certainly did_ not _beg!_

Even with nearly every comfort he could think of, there was still something off; he couldn’t describe it, but he didn’t think he needed to. Or, well, he hadn’t thought he’d needed to until that moment. Sitting there, in the room, hands folded as he stared off into the distance over his fingertips, he came to a damning realization that seemed to cause a part of his being to wither into nothingness. The foreign sensation was enough to shock him into total silence.

For the first time in his life, Jonah Magnus was truly lonely.


	3. i thought you betrayed me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter makes his return, thanks to a little magic. the reunion is...tense.

_Jonah was seated at his desk when the fog began to creep in, swirling around his ankles and causing the tiny little hairs there to stand up._

_“...Peter?”_

_His voice was cautious and steady as he rose to his feet, dropping the quill he’d been holding. “Peter? Peter, I know it’s you! Stop hiding from me!”_

_The fog, which was pouring in from beneath one door, seemed to withdraw; Jonah quickly took up the chase after it. The hallways seemed to extend forever as he ran; the fog always seemed farther away and just out of reach._

_“Peter! Peter Lukas, stop these games!” he barked._

_The whole world had begun to shift before his eyes, phasing in and out of focus as parts of his surroundings seemed to melt away. He caught a glimpse of a ship captain’s coat, one which he recognized to be Peter’s, and lunged; hands coming up empty, he tumbled through the floor into a vast and desolate place._

_“What—”_

_Waves lapped against his legs, although his pants seemed to not get wet. It was almost calming, alluring, like the sea was calling to him and begging him to swim out until he couldn’t feel the ocean floor..._

_“Lukas, I’ve told you before that I haven’t got patience for your games!” he growled angrily, turning. As he turned, in the corner of his eye a familiar scruffy beard and cap were visible._

_“Peter! Peter, get back here, you ungrateful wretch!”_

_He reached out for the man’s hand, but his own arm went straight through the captain’s limb as if the other were not there at all. Peter smiled at him, expression sickeningly twisted, and the world shifted under his feet again._

_“Peter, let me out of here right now! Let me go!”_

_He screamed._

“GET BACK HERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH, I’M NOT DONE WITH—”

He was sitting upright in bed, panting, clutching at his comforter and nearly tearing it to shreds.

“Nightmare, Magnus?”

Jonah’s neck nearly snapped as he turned to look at Magnolia, who was standing by the door, so quickly did he move.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!” he wailed, clearly on the brink of both tears and a massive angry explosion.

“I rule this goddamn country, motherfucker, so you’ll shut up and cut out or I’ll make you,” Maggie replied lightly. “I asked you a question, and you’re going to answer me.”

“Yes,” Jonah choked out, a grimace on his face as the answer was drawn from his lips. “Yes, I did, about—”

He growled angrily. “Stop forcing me to answer you! It’s—”

“Unpleasant? Painful?” Magnolia hissed, eyes screaming murder at the man. “Taste of your own medicine, _brat_.”

She took a few steps closer to him, causing the Brit to recoil back against his pillows out of nervousness. A small smile played upon her lips as she sat down at the end of the bed; Jonah was glaring at her distastefully.

“So, what is it you want, Jonah Magnus?” the Donairian Queen hummed softly, catching the man by surprise.

“ _Me_? Want? I can assure you, I am—”

Jonah swallowed hard, biting at his lower lip. It was the only break in his facade that he had allowed to slip through; he was beginning to second-guess himself, which was quite alarming to him.

_She can see right through my mind…_

“...you’re powerful,” he whispered, staring up at the Queen with hazy blue eyes. Each word dropped from his mouth was burdened with immense reluctance. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen what you’ve done to—to me. You—you can bring him to me, can’t you?”

Magnolia was silent for a moment, examining her nails with such scrutiny that Jonah found himself almost concerned that she hadn’t heard him. He cleared his throat several times, but to no avail.

“...so you’re begging me to do a necromancy ritual?” she hummed drily, eventually breaking her silence.

“I’m not _begging_ ,” Jonah ground out through gritted teeth, cringing at the word. “ _I don’t beg_.”

“Fine, then,” Maggie sighed. “I’ll give you that little victory. You’re not begging. But you’re asking me to bring Peter Lukas back from the dead for you?”

“...yes,” Magnus muttered, looking away. “Yes, I’m asking for you to do that.”

“It’s a deal, then,” the queen replied, her quick response shocking Jonah. He reached out a hand to shake, but she quickly pulled hers back.

“Ah, ah, I’ve a few conditions about the matter,” she said warningly. “If you shake now, you accept them without knowi—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jonah muttered, reaching forward and shaking her hand before squeaking in surprise as purple flames erupted and engulfed their hands.

“My apologies,” Maggie laughed, although the laugh didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “Happens when you make a deal with a mage like me.”

She pulled out a pad of paper with a significant amount of writing on it, loopy cursive stretching expansively across the sheets. “Now, about those conditions…”

~XXXXX~

Jonah got himself quite dressed up on the day the ritual was due to be completed. He repeatedly ran his hands through his deep brunet hair, slicking it back until the curls were barely visible; he put on his best clothing combination, vest and waistcoat and all the trimmings. He looked the best he had in months—even if he was getting a bit of a belly these days. The many layers and buttons helped him hide what he had deemed his ‘rather unfortunate gradual thickening’.

“Peter would notice,” he muttered under his breath.

_Peter would notice everything, looking at me. That man never needed the Beholding to dress someone down to their cracks or insecurities._

There was a knock on the door; he rushed to open it. Before he could, however, Magnolia stepped inside and motioned for him to step back with one perfectly manicured hand.

“No violence,” she said warningly. “Remember our deal. If you want to keep yourself alive—”

“I’m not dumb,” Jonah hissed. “Move. Let him in.”

He was gripping a bottle of wine in one hand, occasionally taking a sip until the contents were emptied; the bottle itself remained in his hand, even when it had been finished off.

Sighing, Maggie stepped aside and opened the door once more.

Through the door came the figure of a sea captain quite familiar to Jonah; the man in question, who was watching, felt an odd little quiver in his stomach—as if he were enjoying what he saw, even as his brain told him he ought not be so happy.

“...hello, Jonah,” Peter coughed, standing in front of the older Brit and shifting his weight from foot to foot. His beard looked just as scruffy as ever; seeing him standing there, alive and as well as he could possibly be, Jonah felt something akin to relief.

“Peter.”

His response was cold, colder than he’d initially intended, but his mood had begun to shift. Anger rose in his throat, salty and bitter like the taste of iron-rich blood on his lips.

_The audacity he has…_

Without warning, he swiftly raised the empty glass bottle over his head and moved to bring it down hard on Peter’s head. The captain flinched as he did so, clearly expecting what was happening; it was as if the whole moment was happening in slow motion.

There was a loud shattering noise, the bottle having been broken—but not over Lukas’ head. Magnolia was standing between the two men, right fist radiating with golden light so bright that they had to shield their eyes before even hazarding a glance at the young queen. The neck of the bottle was still in Jonah’s hand, broken off and jagged, but the rest of the bottle had been quite literally vaporized.

“If you break your deal again, I will not hesitate,” she said simply, a no-nonsense expression on her face. “That goes for both of you.”

By this point, her arms had dropped to her sides. Jonah could feel the amount of magic in the air decrease considerably, although the surrounding atmosphere still thrummed with magical power.

“What _are_ —”

“Don’t ask such stupid questions, Peter,” Jonah growled, letting the bottle neck fall from his hand into the queen’s waiting palm. “Are you leaving us?”

“In physical terms? Yes,” Maggie replied. “But I’ll have my eye on you.”

As she slipped out of the room, Jonah shuddered. “That woman worries me…”

“Let’s go,” Peter said quickly, grabbing Jonah’s hand and catching the other man by surprise. The world around them began to blur slightly; Jonah let out an alarmed yelp, pulling his arm away.

“Peter, no, you can’t—”

The captain let out a strangled yell as a searing blue glow enveloped his form; the light seemed to crackle and pop, like lightning or electric shocks. He crumpled to the floor in pain, reaching out weakly for Magnus.

Jonah almost felt pity for him.

_Almost_.

“You deserve it,” he sneered, turning on his heel and stepping away. “No powers work here but the queen’s own, _idiot_.”

His tone was positively scathing as he continued, each word hitting Lukas’ skin as if the captain were being scalded by drops of boiling water. The older Brit had stopped his pacing to lean against the room’s bookshelf, unbuttoning one button of his jacket before undoing the others as well—it was too tight, otherwise, and the tightness was visible.

“But you would know all about false actions, wouldn’t you? After all, you betrayed me.”

“...what?” Peter whispered, still recovering from the electric shock. “Jonah, I—no, I—”

“You must have!” Jonah hissed. “How else could Jonathan Sims have defeated my plans? That is the only way that—that he could even attempt such a thing with success! So, tell me, traitor, what all did you say, hmm? What great secrets of mine did you tell?”

Peter, still shaking on the floor, managed to find the strength somewhere within himself to stand up. He drew himself up to his full height over Jonah, gritting his teeth in pain.

“If you think me one who would betray someone like you, whom I care for deeply, then you are greatly mistaken,” he growled. “I said nothing. I gave my life for you and your stupid plans—which didn’t work—, and you repay me with doubt and threatened physical violence? I should—”

He gasped in pain, knees buckling; the pain from the magical shock had been too much for him, and he sat shaking on the floor. His cap had fallen off to the side, forgotten, leaving messy graying hair behind.

Jonah stared at Lukas blankly as the latter continued to wheeze and cough, staring straight through him as if the man weren’t there.

_He didn’t._

_He didn’t betray me._

_And I’ve spent all this time angry at him, and I very nearly hurt him and he never spoke a word of my plans._

Peter felt as if his heart were hammering at a thousand kilometers per hour in his chest, like the shock had given him an abnormal heartbeat. One hand clutched at his pained chest; the other hand was on the ground, fingers drumming anxiously as he attempted to will away thoughts of the pain clawing through his body.

“Peter, I’m—”

Jonah knelt down next to the captain, cupping the man’s face in his own hands. His own shaking thumbs wiped away the tears that had started to spill over Peter’s cheeks; the touch was gentle, remarkably so for a man so prone to violence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I—I assumed, and—”

He swallowed, already in pain from the admission about to come from his lips.

“I...I was _wrong_ , Peter. And I’ve caused you pain, now, and that—that was never my intention. I—I truly—”

He cut himself off, pressing a hand to his mouth as a whimpered little sob escaped his lips.

“We’ve made a mess of this, haven’t we?”

“You just watched me get shocked by the electric magic of some crazy mage,” Peter laughed shakily, “and you’d still think I would betray you to someone?”

“No, no, of course not, I wasn’t thinking—” His breath was coming in short spurts now, desperate attempts to halt the oncoming tears. “I—heavens, Peter, you’ve just nearly been killed!”

Jonah pushed himself to his feet and managed to aid Peter in getting up off of the floor, walking the captain over to his assigned bed. “She’s surprisingly nice. I thought she was too nice for a captor, but she’s—”

“—been exposed to things, I know,” Peter muttered, sitting down and wincing. “Found her in the Lonely once, and I still have no clue how she got there.”

As Jonah processed this information, the sea captain took off enough of his outer layers to lay down comfortably—he was down to socks, trousers, and a shirt. The older Brit quickly did the same, pausing about halfway through unbuttoning his own vest.

“You must be very tired,” Magnus said quietly after a moment or two of silence with his vest half-off. “I...will not ask about...your end.”

“Thank you,” Lukas chuckled drily, although his tone was bitter for the words. “And it looks like you’ve been relatively...not busy? If the gut is anything to judge by, that is?”

Jonah turned bright red and sputtered for several seconds before mumbling something about ‘strawberry ice cream’ and attempting to casually toss his vest to the side. He sat down next to Peter, one arm wrapped around himself.

“Don’t be so fragile,” Peter scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous. I still love you, you know.”

Even as embarrassed as he was, Jonah couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from turning upward in a small smile. He exhaled, attempting to kick his mortification to the side, and stretched.

“You’re in pain right now. I’ll go first,” he hummed softly, laying down upon the bed. Peter gratefully shifted and stretched out next to him, eventually ending up cuddled on top with his face in Magnus’ shoulder.

Jonah, rolling his eyes, wrapped both arms around Peter; one was vaguely in the bigger man’s torso area, while the other hooked around the captain’s neck so he could tangle his fingers in sea-sprayed locks. “Are you just doing this because you can?”

“You’re soft,” Peter mumbled. “And...it’s been a while.”

That was the closest he ever got to saying “I missed you”, which was out of the question for him to say because he was an avatar of the Lonely. Nevertheless, it made Jonah feel quite warm inside.

The two laid there, cozied together, until they fell asleep. It was the calmest night either man had had for some time—and, even if neither would admit it, they were both the happiest they had been for a very long while.


	4. it's probably the hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jonah and peter finally get to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've changed tenses! there is a reference to self-harm in this chapter (uncharacteristic self-harm for one character, predictable for the other) and also things get mildly flirtatious/close (eyebrow wiggle). also peter calls jonah "jojo" just to annoy him lol. at some point between chapters one and two, maggie restored jonah's corporeal form. i'm too lazy to go back and add this in notes there, so have this note here :)

Jonah has never been good with being cooped up, and being a prisoner is no exception to that rule. He makes it through most of his time, unused to being a static captive—it’s annoying, terribly dreary, but when Peter arrives things are a little bit better. Days, then weeks pass with Peter by his side.

He’s lucky that Peter is there, really; this becomes evident when he finally reaches the end of his stamina. He’s standing by the window, staring out through the glass, when his knees buckle and he goes down. The captain catches him with ease; he’s become far too light, these last few weeks.

Magnolia comes before she’s even called on. She’s constantly aware of everything that’s happening, somehow, and for once Jonah is grateful—after the fact—for being watched. She sweeps in, and Peter can barely summon his words; the captain is cradling Jonah in his arms, hands shaking.

“He hasn’t Fed,” she murmurs, and it breaks the awful silence that’s fallen. “I told him not to shake my hand before he knew my terms, and yet…”

“You don’t have to watch him die,” Peter chokes out, words uncharacteristically emotional. “It—it isn’t fair to me, and it isn’t fair to him, and you’re not that kind of person. I know you’re not.”

Maggie hesitates, golden flecks swirling in her eyes, and Peter knows he’s convinced her.

“...you will continue to follow the terms of the agreements,” she says quietly. “You may reside at your own homes and other places of residence, but I will be keeping a magically warded eye on you. You may call on me for help as you need—but do not ruin my trust by using this ability with no restraint. And...in exchange, I will heal him. And set you both free.”

One pale hand is held out, unwavering, over the ground; the sea captain extends his own. Their palms meet in a flash of purple fire, painless and cold. Peter takes note of how tiny her hands are compared to his—it’s almost ridiculous, pale delicate fingers clasped in roughened and calloused palms.

“...you know, if you ever need to talk…” he mutters, before shaking his head and gently turning her arm so he can see it. She flinches, but does not hide as his gaze roves over dozens upon dozens of thin white lines.

“Scars,” Magnolia says shortly, before abruptly shoving her sleeves down. “You should know well enough about them. No need to disturb me.”

The captain rocks back on his heels and nods, before jerking his head frantically at Jonah’s body—which is still in his arms.

“So? He’s becoming colder!”

Peter has always run cold. His hands are cold, his breath is cold, and he likes the cold. Jonah, on the other hand, is like a crackling fire; the man practically exudes heat, both in character and in choice—Peter can’t be found in a shower that’s anything but cold, and Jonah loves to soak in a heated tub for hours on end.

But Peter finds himself craving warmth, for the body in his arms is swiftly becoming cool. He cannot find heat—Jonah is his heat, the only heat he’ll accept—, and he is starving for it.

“...I want my warmth back,” he whispers, and his words are barely audible. “You—”

His words trail into nothing as Magnolia kneels beside him. She passes a hand through the air over Jonah’s forehead; Peter gasps softly, eyes widening, as he immediately feels a sense of heaviness and heat return to the older Brit’s body.

“Take him home,” Maggie says softly, snapping her fingers. All of the personal items in the room disappear; when Peter squawks in surprise, she shakes her head.

“I sent them there. Take him home,” she repeats, gesturing vaguely around the room. “You said it was unfair, well, it’s unfair no longer. Would you like me to open a window?”

Peter snaps to attention at this, cradling Jonah closer to his body and praying the older Brit will soon wake up. He knows what it means to open a door to the Lonely; it isn’t a far leap to assume that the Donairian Queen can make a similar door through reality, and his assumption is proven correct as a swirling vortex appears beside them.

He steps through, extremely conscious of Jonah’s weight in his arms, and finds himself in the master bedroom of the Magnus estate. The portal has closed, and there is no one else present, but he knows what to do next. As he sets Jonah upon the bed, the man stirs weakly; he rushes to comfort and soothe him.

“Jonah, JoJo, Jo, it’s alright, we’re at your home,” Peter murmurs.

Jonah only just manages to open his eyes, squinting up at a blurry face that focuses into familiarity. His arms feel like lead as he tries to reach up for Peter’s face before realizing he doesn’t have the strength.

“P...Peter…”

“Easy,” Lukas whispers, planting a kiss on Jonah’s forehead and smoothing back his hair. “I’m going to get you out of these clothes and then you’ll take a bath, my dear.”

The older Brit can barely manage a whimper in response. He lies upon the bed, totally limp, as Peter removes first his shoes and then his pants and then his jacket and vest and cravat and shirt and suddenly he’s lying upon the bed almost entirely unclothed. Peter’s hands, large and calloused, are running against his soft skin; he feels a few fingers slip to his inner thigh and makes an odd little contented noise, vaguely conferring both happiness and horniness.

“Up you get,” Peter frowns, hoisting Jonah into his arms, and Jonah is in love all over again. That same touch brings back memories of their first wedding night, when Peter’s palms rested flatly against his torso, or the gentle warmth of a tender wedding embrace that neither man would admit they were secretly thrilled about, or the quiet closeness of the first dance they had together as husbands.

“I love you, Peter,” he manages, a dazed smile on his face, and despite the captain’s worries the man smiles back at him.

Jonah is half out of everything, and by the time he comes to again he can hear the open taps. It takes him a few more moments to realize that water is gently lapping at his skin; he can feel Peter’s hands helping him sit up in the bath. It’s warm, too, and he finds himself surprised amidst the confused fog of weakness.

“W—”

“Yes, warm water, JoJo,” Peter laughs softly, hands caressing Jonah’s skin as he settles the man into an upright position. “I pay attention.”

A beautiful warm feeling blossoms in Jonah’s chest, sweet and delectable, and he cannot stop himself from leaning into the touch.

“Mm...are you going to bathe me now?” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter closed. Water laps at his curls; he can feel Peter gently massaging shampoo into the brown locks.

“It seems that you can’t do it yourself right now,” comes the reply, quiet as ever. “So, yes.”

The hands have migrated to his torso, and Jonah twists with a startled little yelp that causes Peter to pull back in alarm.

“Peter, don’t, please, I—”

His whimpers quiet as his strength slips away, and he collapses back against the edge of the bath. He doesn’t have the ability to fight the touch; he’s far too weak to do anything.

“...Jonah, what are these?”

He hears Peter’s quiet question and whimpers, biting his lip until blood starts to spill and the captain forces him to stop by opening his jaw.

“Answer me, Jonah,” Peter growls softly, and though the man has no Beholding power Jonah feels compelled to answer.

“...do you really think I could live without you?” he manages weakly, and it’s pathetic and far too emotional for his own tastes but Peter’s eyes widen and the man’s face drains of all color.

“And who stopped you from—from stabbing a knife through your abdomen?” he asks, hands shaking. “Who would have mopped up the blood, Jonah? Have your senses totally left you?! Did you even think about how I might fail to go on without y—”

“You weren’t alive, Peter!” Jonah wails, and the captain realizes with a start that the older Brit is sobbing. Hot tears trickle down his own cheeks; he feels shame bubble up inside his chest.

“I’m sorry, Jonah,” he whispers, the name tender on his lips as he kneels down and rests their foreheads together. “I didn’t mean to distress you. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving.”

They sit in silence, dual sets of salty tears mingling with the heated bathwater until neither man can cry any more. The quiet is deafening—even to Peter, who is used to the solitude and the static of the Lonely. Finally, after several minutes of emptiness, Jonah speaks.

“...I don’t think I was quite this tall, before,” he mumbles, and it makes no sense whatsoever in the context of the conversation but to Peter its meaning is crystal clear. It’s an admission, a gentle and surprising opening of the older Brit’s wounded soul, and it’s solemnly personal. The captain runs a hand through the familiar brown curls, which are still soapy, and smiles.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he replies quietly, and the mood relaxes closer to the domestically tranquil scene it was before Peter’s realization. With no small amount of tension in his body, Jonah allows the captain to slowly begin bathing him again.

“You’re here now,” he says softly, mostly to himself, but Lukas overhears and his touch softens the slightest bit. This time, Jonah does not squirm or pull away as the familiar fingers cross his torso with a soft sponge; the touch is welcomed, and he even leans in a bit.

“We can’t stay in the bath all day long,” Peter laughs, and his voice is low and rumbling somewhere in his throat and all Magnus can think about is how much he’s in love. He lets himself wholly relax as he is lifted from the lukewarm waters and subsequently wrapped in the fluffiest towels known to man. There are hands in his hair, large palms delivering comforting touches, and he cannot recall a time he felt more blissed out. His eyes drift shut; he sways forward where he sits, letting his head rest against Peter’s shoulder.

“Pajamas, Jonah,” Peter says warningly, for Jonah has nearly drifted off to sleep there next to him. “Pajamas, and then you can rest.”

“Mphf, fine,” the older Brit manages, flapping a hand vaguely in Peter’s direction. “Give.”

“I don’t think you have the strength to do that yet,” Lukas shakes his head. “Would you like some help?”

The entirety of Jonah’s face goes red, illuminating a smattering of freckles over his nose that Peter has never quite noticed before. He watches in amusement as the older Brit stammers for several awkward seconds.

“...yes,” Jonah mumbled, quieting his hands and allowing Peter to remove the towels wrapped around him. He sits in complete silence as this happens; he does not move an inch.

As Peter begins to help him on with his pajamas, their skin touches and Jonah jumps as if he’s been shocked electrically. Peter only chuckles and continues the gentle contact, watching as Magnus turns the color of a ripened beefsteak tomato.

It’s gentle and sweet, fingertips trailing against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and Jonah has entirely lost it. He squirms where he sits and whimpers softly, nearly falling over backwards until Peter catches him.

“Arms, my darling,” the captain requests quietly, and two limp arms make their best attempts to rise. Jonah is soon fully clothed in pajamas, but Peter’s hands still run around his neck and up his wrists.

“You’re either determined to make me suffer, or you want to turn me on,” Jonah grumbled, before yawning. The captain quickly hurried about getting him settled into bed.

“Rest, Jo. You need it,” Peter sighed quietly, tucking the older Brit into bed and giving him a kiss on the forehead.

“I shall dream of you holding me, then,” Jonah replied sleepily, before yawning once more and taking a lovely trip to the realm of dreams. Peter sat, alone, gazing fondly at his beloved as the man slept soundly.

_Dreams of me holding him, eh? Can’t imagine why._

_He must just like my hands._


End file.
